Sillage
by brie3887
Summary: AU: Mary and Francis have been separated for a long time, but a job brings them back together again.
1. Chapter 1

The pencil was dropping evenly on the knee of her crossed legs. Her lips formed a tight line, and he could effortlessly read the annoyance steaming from her brown eyes. She tilted her head as he gazed at her from across his desk waiting her answer. But she was going to take longer than usual in an effort to make him squirm. He listened to that even thump of the eraser on her sheer stockinged knee, adjusted himself in his chair and cleared his throat, waiting.

"Let me get this straight." She spoke. "My mother has just died, and I literally left her funeral less than twenty-four hours ago, and you already want to poach her company for a job?" He rolled his eyes, and she snorted in disgust. "What the hell Bash?"

Sebastian DePoiters stared across his desk at his number one female operative. A woman he had known for years, trained with, worked with, and now supervised.

"Mary – "He started, and she held her hand up.

"This is unbelievable." Her face turned away, the pencil stopped, and he could see it clenched in her fist.

"Listen," He leaned forward. "I know this is bad timing. However, your mother's company provides a perfect front. France called in for help, and I think together we can take these guys down." There was an eye roll from her side of the desk.

"So not only do you want me to use my power in my mother's company-"

"Not her company, your company." Mary shook her head. "It is yours Mary."

"Right. So my newly acquired company, which is already vulnerable, and then you want me to work with some French spy who I've never met?" Bash took a deep breath.

"No, you've met him." Mary's eyes widened as Bash slid the file across the desk. She leaned, opened it, and shut it quickly.

"No. Absolutely not Bash." She was firm, as she leaned back in her chair crossing her arms.

"Mary, please. You know he's the best, and he's been working with these guys for at least a year under cover. It was his idea." There was the look again.

"Did he already offer my company up on a platter?" Bash shrugged. "He probably did! And you just go along with it because of the glory you'll receive! I can't believe you're making me do this." He gave her a grateful smile, knowing she was caving in her slight agreement. He slid another file across the table, but she looked perturbed.

"Here's your identity information." She searched through the file, noticed her name was changing, but back to her original, the name of her father. "Say goodbye to the CIA Mary de Guise."

"Is this wise?"

"Everyone at that company knows you as Mary Stuart. We are the only people who know you as Mary de Guise. Your own mother doesn't know you run secret operations; you've barely even spoken with her. I never was sure why you gave up Stuart anyways." She threw him a look. "Never mind, I remember." He held out a hotel key and credit card which she took. "You're meeting with him tonight. Get some new things to match the persona; you know how it goes."

"Do I at least get my own room?" She asked sharply.

"No. According to him, he's already played you up as a girlfriend. So you'll have a suite which should give you some space." She was looking through the file and her nose scrunched up.

"Playing me up as his girlfriend? How long have you known about this Bash and how long as he been playing me up?" Mary spit out.

"Well when you're mother died, I think he felt it would be a good opportunity."

"And you both just knew I'd do it, right? Pull me out of South America, from where I am actually making some headway, and slam me next to him using my company."

"It's perfect, Mary. You've been off the grid for a while, so it works." She knew he was right. For the last few years, Mary had been doing undercover work in South America. Bash changed that work to some sort of Peace Corps member. Mary had been away from her family for a few years, so she knew he was right. It was the perfect setup.

"My poor mother is probably already rolling in her grave. If she only knew." Mary could barely look at Bash, and only focused on the story written out in front of her. Her identity, her likes and dislikes, her need and wants.

"You better get going. And remember, they're probably already starting to watch the two of you." Mary nodded. "Mary," She paused, turning to look at him. "I am sorry for making you take this on so early since – well you know what I mean." She nodded. "I owe you a lot of vacation time when it's done."

"You'll owe me more than that Bash." She held the file up. "And so will someone else."

He was drumming his fingers lightly on the red leather couch in the lobby of the historic Algonquin Hotel. A scotch rested neatly on a coaster next to him, and the New York Times was laid out in his lap. He waited for her, but inside a small parcel of nerves was stirring. When was the last time he waited like this for her? Perhaps that night, the one in which he waited in the lobby of a hotel like now. She had come from the open elevator, a vision in her evening gown. She had looked distracted, he thought, not even seeming to pay attention to where he may be. She was fiddling with a ring or was it her earring, he couldn't remember. He only remembered the way he felt when she was suddenly in his view: like he could love her forever.

It was her voice that stirred his quick trip to the past. There she stood with her back to him at the hotel desk. The man pointed her in his direction, and she turned catching his eye in her line of sight. He nodded to her, sent a wave, and she thanked the man at the desk. He studied her as she approached. Her long dark chestnut hair pulled back, something he never really appreciated. She wore a tight black turtle neck dress, high-heeled boots, and a beautiful pale pink wool coat rested on her shoulders. He stood to greet her and sweetly kissed her cheek. They said their hellos, smiled at each other, and played the game.

In their room, the aura changed. She wasn't so happy to see him after he helped her out of her coat. Mary watched him pour her a drink, her own scotch to accompany his. He handed it to her and found a seat across from her in their small living room.

"It is good to see you again." He was genuine, she noted. He chuckled when she didn't respond, but instead sipped her scotch. "So this will be business as usual then."

"What else would it be, Francis?" She asked staring into his blue eyes. The ones she used to get lost in when he made love to her. The same eyes that told her he loved her before his mouth ever uttered it. He nodded at her, raised his glass in agreement and took a sip.

"You're angry."

"Of course I am. You're offering my company as a sacrifice."

"I am not." He was calm as always and that infuriated her. "This is a chance for both of our countries to –"

She stopped him. "Don't even start." The scotch was downed and the glass set hard on the coffee table. "This is clearly business, business which you imposed on Bash, who then forced it onto me. You're using me."

"Mary, don't be so sensitive. When you hear what these men are doing, you'll want to be a part of this. I just thought this was the perfect opportunity –"

"Save it." She shot back. He watched her stand up and square her shoulders off looking down at him. She walked off to the bedroom, undoing her hair as she went. The door shut to the bathroom and he heard the water start.

"I guess it is just business." He said with a smirk. It wouldn't be so enjoyable for him if he hadn't known her better. He knew her better than anyone, sometimes he wondered if even better than himself. The same went for her when it came to him, which is why she was quickly able to figure out his plan.

In the shower, Mary closed her eyes and rested her hand against the wall, leaning into it. He looked the same, if not better. He wasn't young, but matured; his face had worn with time, but he was still handsome. She desperately wanted to resist any of those residual feelings she could feel creeping back. It took her years to lock them away and now just the mere sight of him, set them free. The hot water pounded her body, and she honestly wondered how she would make it through this operation. She just prayed it would be completed quickly.

**First, the word sillage, which is french, literally refers to the scent that lingers from perfume. However, it can also refer to the lingering of anything basically; whatever impression someone or something has made after they have gone. Secondly, this story feels like a big risk for me because it's totally out there even in terms of AU. I have tried to keep Mary and Francis's personalities and make their issue one that is somewhat relate-able. I don't expect everyone to like it, but if you do, thank you ahead of time. There are more chapters, but I need to work out some kinks. Kind/gentle reviews are always welcome. :) **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Just a quick note, first, thank you for the reviews. Secondly, to warn you, Narcisse is the villain (which I think we would expect), but so is Conde. I like Conde, but I needed a villain of sorts, so that's him. Oh well. And, I promise in the next chapter you'll get some much needed information about Frary's past. Anyways, kind/gentle reviews are always welcome. I do not own Reign or any of its characters. **

A short while later they moved to her mother's apartment, a sprawling penthouse that Mary grew up in. Francis recognized the taste in decoration as ostentation as Marie de Guise herself, but he said nothing. He was hoping it would be here that they could finally talk.

Over the couple of days spent together already, he and Mary had debriefed the situation. She had spoken to him when necessary and tried her best to be a natural girlfriend in public. However, Mary could not wipe the slate clean so easily, and Francis wasn't prepared to do so either.

At least there were multiple bedrooms. Francis took a deep breath as they stood in the entryway. Mary walked forward examining the home, he watched her take careful notice of the furniture, a glass table near the door, a gilded mirror above, dead tulips below. She touched them with her fingertips and he swore he saw her shoulders drop. He cleared his throat. "Where do you want me?" She didn't glance at him, just headed down a long hallway which the end stood a lush guest room.

"Here." She said softly. He followed her in. "There is a bathroom attached." He looked around at the parquet floors, an oriental rug draped over them, a high postered bed with colored pillows and blankets. When he turned to look at her, she was already watching him. He nodded in thanks and mentioned that he'd start unpacking his things. She gave him a smile. It wasn't the one he remembered from so long ago, but rather one that was tired and exhausted, perhaps unsure of the situation the two had ventured into. He wondered if being here, in this place, was already wearing on her. He didn't know why she had been so estranged from her mother for so long, Bash had refused to tell him. It was his hope that it wasn't because of him. His last memory of Marie de Guise was not pleasant, but he thought it could be possible for Mary to find her way after he had left. Maybe not.

Mary left to her own room, the one she was raised in. It had occurred to her that it wouldn't be the best place to sleep, and crossing the threshold already raised so many memories. She was driven right back to the times when she felt crushed under her mother's thumb. The room, like her heart, had been locked for what felt like centuries; it safeguarded the memories she did not want to remember.

She went to find hangers in the closer and instead found herself stopped looking at her old clothes, things she assumed her mother would dispose of. But instead, she found her prom dress, encased in plastic and hanging delicately next to her school uniform. There was the dress she wore for her National Honor Society induction, and the other one for the charity event she organized with her best girlfriends. She pushed the clothes aside searching for one particular dress. She almost missed it, but it was there hanging in the back, shy and unassuming, hidden in the crowd of her accomplishments. She separated it from the others and gazed at it through the plastic cover. She remembered it's filminess that had fluttered around the tops of her knees, and it's light blue color which fit the sunny day perfectly. Her heart dropped. This was a memory she desperately wanted to escape.

"Hey." She heard his voice, quickly stepped back and banged her knee on the side of the closet.

"Ouch." She uttered.

"You okay?" He came close to her his hand out to steady her if need be, but instead she threw up her palm and stopped him. She backed out of the closet and shut the doors.

"I'm okay." She said straightening up. His eyes caught the length of the room and he took his time to look around. A smile played on his lips as he saw her photos, a bookcase, desk, some dried roses in a vase near her mirror. It was not a little girl's room, but rather grown up. "I'm not going to sleep here." She said quickly. He looked at her and then her opened suitcase.

"No?" He asked. She averted her eyes and her head shook vigorously as if trying to convince herself.

"I changed my mind, I'll take the other guest bedroom." She went to her luggage, zipped it, and lugged if off the bed. She stopped. "So, later, we can discuss everything in more detail?" He nodded. She waited for him to leave the room before shutting the door behind her where her memories needed to stay.

Mary and Francis could at least have privacy from one another. They were slowly acclimating to being around each other as they had been once before. Their conversations were usually light and casual and not deep. Francis had tried broaching the subject of their past, but Mary had not wanted to discuss it. She'd rather dive head first into their job. However, the space between their history and physical presence did not prevent them from running into each other. He was there when she ran out into the kitchen to grab something in her towel, a smile played upon his face, and she sent him a dirty look. Or the time he came in sopping wet from the rain, his hair hanging around his face like a wet dog; it sent her into a fit of giggles. The space didn't stop them from having to be seen out and about through New York City either. Part of their operation was to be seen as a couple in order to convince those in Francis's network to work with Mary.

"It's simple, really," He had told her. "These men are smuggling black market items all over Europe. They have yet to make a strong connection in the United States. I believe you're it." He sounded so confident, Mary thought. "No one is going to look at your mother's company."

"But we can't ignore that there have been past smuggling schemes within the fashion industry."

"Right." Francis acknowledged. "But these men have a fool proof method. I don't know how it works and I can't ever seem to get that close."

"So I'm your ticket." He rolled his eyes. Her tone was a little tough for him to swallow.

"Not you, but the company." She didn't feel unsure about what Francis was saying because she did trust him, at least in this sense. He was always logical, always thinking, and it worked, except that one time that he had been too rational. The time he forsook her for his logic. Still, Mary settled into her role as both CEO of her mother's company and Francis's girlfriend.

They established themselves as an item once more, although, New York City did not know them as all they had been before.

* * *

><p>Mary entered the penthouse a chill still running down her spine from the icy air outside. She could hear Francis on the phone somewhere, and she quickly removed her jacket, putting it away. He had been trying to communicate with his connections for over two weeks, trying to pull them into a deal. He was leaning over the kitchen counter when she came into view, and he smiled at her. She smiled back, but set off to make herself an espresso behind him. At one point, he turned around to watch her, mindlessly getting her coffee ready. She moved easily around the small kitchen, turned and held a cup out, and he nodded at her offer. The person on the line must have said something because Francis was now speaking of her, and Mary listened.<p>

"No, no, my apologies. My girlfriend just got home. She's a bit of a distraction." He said with a chuckle into the phone. Mary tried to hold back her slight annoyance. "Yes, that's her, the one with the company I was telling you about." Mary slid the coffee in front of him, and he thanked her silently. She disappeared into the office.

When he was off the phone, he found her poring over some papers in their shared office. Her head was held in her hand, a pen in the other. "Hey." She saw him leaning casually against the door jamb, and a jolt surged through her body. She remembered last seeing him that way long before, but entirely different. He was clad in his briefs, holding two coffees, staring at her naked body that waited his return. The coffee had been discarded, as had his briefs and they resumed their previous activities.

"Mary?" He asked and she snapped out of her memory. "Everything okay?"

"Yes!" She said quickly.

"How was work?"

"Great." She sent him a smile. He ventured into the room and took a seat.

"I'm working on these guys. They're in town tonight for charity. They invited us to the event, and I think it would be a good introduction." Mary nodded. "Stefan Narcisse and Louis Conde." He ran a hand through his hair and breathed deep. "Louis and I happen to be somewhat related." She raised her eyebrows. "Narcisse, though, he's the one to worry about. Totally deceptive. He is only out for personal gain. Anyways, I told them you were interested in investing or rather helping." He paused. "All this time I've been working for them, establishing myself as a form for networking, I just haven't been able to catch them."

"But now you can." She added.

"I hope. They have to take the bait."

"Me. I'm the bait."

"Mary." He said softly wanting her sarcasm to stop.

"No, that's what this is, isn't it? A pretty girl with a boatload of shipments to make very often. A pretty girl who's mother's company could use a little bit more money." She paused and a smirk spread across her mouth. "Does that mean I have to drop my IQ?" Francis took a moment to register how serious she was before realizing it was a joke. He laughed.

"Maybe slightly." She smiled, a real one, he thought. "It also means you need to look good." Mary rolled her eyes.

"When do I not?" He laughed again and it felt good to not feel tension. They were trying, he thought, both of them. He knew however it was difficult for her; she was still hurt. "Okay, well if it's tonight," she looked at her watch, "I need to get myself together."

When she called him, he was tying his bowtie. In her room, she was standing in a silk short robe looking at two dresses lying on her bed. He noticed her done hair and adored the way her brow was crinkled over the decision she needed to make. She wanted him to choose a dress for her because of course she had no idea what this charity event was about. Red, he had told her. The red one was the one she should wear. Of course she had questioned him, but he adamantly agreed with the red. She probably hadn't known it was more for his benefit than the evenings. Red was the color he liked best on her.

When she ventured out into the living area ten minutes later, red lipstick to match her tight beaded lace dress, he knew he had made the right choice. She stood in front of him waiting for his approval. Her slight insecurities came forth because somewhere in her heart, although she didn't want to admit it, she did care what he thought. His approval did matter. He studied her, and when she turned, and he saw the open back, his mouth dropped.

"Wow, Mary." He said softly. She grinned. If he was this affected, so would everyone else. "Maybe you need to wear the black." She laughed.

"No. If you're reacting this way, then they will definitely fall madly in love with me." She was joking, but he didn't feel comfortable with it. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, Mary still belonged to him, and if she was dressing up to play a part, he'd rather it not be this way. "Then my company comes second, they should fall madly in love with that too" She grabbed her clutch and held out her hand, but he didn't take it. "What's wrong?" He shook his head quickly and snapped out of his thinking. He took her hand and offered her a bright smile. He knew she was just playing, but it bothered him. It had bothered him that other men may be lusting after her, a woman he had loved so desperately. A woman that declared herself only his time and time again. He wondered if he had truly made the right decision to involve her. Was he putting her in danger? She squeezed his hand in the elevator and he looked over at her. "I know what you're thinking." She said matter of fact looking back forward at the mirrored wall.

"What is that?"

"You're thinking the dress is too much, you're thinking you've made a mistake." She adjusted her shoulders. "It's not. And you didn't." She didn't meet his eyes. "Trust me." The words were simple enough, and he knew it was never about him trusting her, he had always trusted her. It was him that he worried about.

* * *

><p>At the venue, Mary told Francis she'd meet up with him inside the main room. She wanted to make an entrance. Francis quickly found the men he was looking for. Conde and his father's business partner, Narcisse, were speaking with those hosting the charity event. For men so deep in a black market underworld, they certainly didn't mind maintaining their good reputation through charity. It was also a manner in which they could get rid of money, as well as draw investors.<p>

"Gentlemen." Francis said with a smile, greeting both. They were happy to see him. Both men had already developed a trust in Francis since he had been working with them for over a year now. "Pleasure to be on this side of the world, no?" The men grinned.

"Perhaps," responded Narcisse. "Although I much prefer my native France." Francis agreed and they clinked glasses in toast.

"My God." Conde sputtered out. Francis followed the man's eyes. There she is, he thought. Mary was always finding a way to make an entrance, and right now she stopped traffic as she made her way through the crowd. "Who is that?"

"Funny you should ask." Francis responded as Mary continued to approach them. She stopped directly in front of the men, and Francis slipped his arm around her waist feeling the bare skin of her back. "Gentlemen, this is Mary Stuart, my lovely girlfriend. Mary, Conde and Narcisse." She held her hand out for both the shake.

"What a pleasure to meet you." Narcisse said kissing her hand.

"What in the hell are you doing with this guy?" Conde joked. Mary looked at Francis and her smile widened.

"Why wouldn't I be with this guy?" She said leaning to kiss him ever so lightly on the cheek. His fingers danced slowly up and down her lower spine against her bare skin, and she felt a lusty discomfort grow in the deeper part of her belly.

"Francis has told us quite a lot about you. But not how you know each other." Narcisse questioned. Francis knew he would be the investigator of this situation.

"Well?" Francis looked at Mary.

"We're very old friends." Mary responded looking back at Francis. "And Francis came right along at the right time." Narcisse raised his eyebrows. "My mother passed away suddenly. He heard the news and called me right up to send his condolences. Let's not forget that beautiful bouquet." She kissed his cheek again.

"He just flew right over?" Conde questioned.

"Well, I invited him. There's a certain comfort in having old friends around." Mary felt Francis's hand squeeze around her side assuring her of her remarks.

Later as they sat at dinner, he whispered if she was okay. To which she nodded. Another whisper, "You look beautiful by the way." She turned her lips into a small smile. He wanted badly to know he could tear his eyes off of her simply because this was business, but instead, he could only think of them before. He thought of how young they had been and how many mistakes each of them had made. If only he hadn't thrown in the towel so soon, perhaps it would have worked. Now she sat next to him, not because she wanted to or because she loved him, as she used to, but more because she had to; their business called for it.

They ended their night inviting Conde and Narcisse to a party Mary's company was throwing for her. Mary felt successful as her and Francis trooped back into their apartment building. The entire way toward the elevator he had kept his hand guiding her lower back and although she wore a heavy coat, she still felt his touch.

In the elevator, Mary yawned, sending Francis into a yawn as well. She giggled at his imitation. "We did good." He nodded. For some reason, she felt her body moving even closer to his. His arm gripped a little tighter on her waist, and she leaned a little closer. She felt his lips on the top of her head, and her heart felt that all was right. It was the haze of too much champagne and the dream of the evening, in which she floated in his arms around the dance floor, causing her brain to become confused and muddled by this close contact. And her heart she feared was already lost to him. Even close to him now as he helped her off the elevator and gently took her coat from her shoulders, now as she strode away from him, her red gown trailing behind her, she knew her heart truly had always belonged to him. It worried her. The line between pretend and real was suddenly not so straight. And furthermore, Mary wasn't sure she wanted to cross that line, not after all they had been through.

"Mary?" He called following her. She held her breath as she turned. "Debrief tomorrow?" She nodded. "Mary?" She turned again and waited, but he suddenly looked down as if he was rethinking, and she felt herself taking a step toward him. "Good night." He said smiling at her. She threw him a weak smile and bid him goodnight as well.


	3. Chapter 3

It was Bash who showed up the next morning disguised as a consultant, and happy to greet Francis, his true half-brother. Their own history was a confusing one. They shared a father, a man who strayed far too many times from his wife, Francis's mother Catherine. Still, American born Bash, was able to have a decent relationship with his brother, spending summers on their sweeping and grand estate in France. Their familial ties were one reason why Bash was so quick to engage Mary in this job.

Mary couldn't help the slight irritation she felt when she greeted Bash. Although her anger had subsided, it was still his fault she was here. She made coffee for all them and took a seat next to Francis on the couch. Bash watched her serve him his coffee, telling him she put in two sugars and a splash of cream. He thanked her, and for a moment Bash could do nothing but stare. "What?" Mary asked.

"Nothing, nothing." He shook his head. "Tell me, how is it going?"

"Mary was able to meet Narcisse and Conde last night at an event. They were infatuated with her."

"Not at all." She shot back to Francis.

"Yes, they were, especially Conde." Mary rolled her eyes. Typical Francis, she thought. He hadn't change a bit.

"So it'll work?" Bask asked. Francis nodded.

"I just need them to convince Mary to become a part of their business, and then we're all set. As long as we can prove the money is from criminal activity and catch the goods in transit, which I'll be taking care of, we'll be fine."

"When do you meet them again?"

"Tomorrow night." Mary answered. Bash nodded and leaned back in his chair. He studied both Mary and Francis again. "Yes?" Mary asked noticing his stare.

"It's funny to see you two together again."

"Well Bash, you put us together." Mary argued.

"Actually, Francis did that." Bash countered. Mary looked over at Francis.

"I asked for permission to work with the CIA and use your company. I knew it would be an easy fit." Francis assured. Mary nodded calmly. She already knew the situation. Francis was intelligent and always used his resources appropriately. Even in her anger at the beginning, she knew deep down Francis had thought it all through. She suddenly excused herself to get some paperwork for Bash.

"Two sugars and a splash of cream?" Bash asked eyebrows raised looking at his brother. Francis shrugged. "When did she start making your coffee?"

"Relax."

"It worries me."

"Why?"

"Because it's almost as if you're married. We both know you're not." Bash said.

"Well, that's not necessarily true." Francis said quietly. Bash felt himself choking on what little coffee was still left in his mouth. Francis got up to pat his back, and Mary strode back into the room. She asked Bash if he was alright, and he nodded still choking. Bash stood up and cleared his throat.

"I have to go." Mary looked at him strangely. "Francis walk me to the elevator." Mary's confused look deepened watching the two brothers. Francis rolled his eyes and shrugged at Mary, walking Bash out. Once far enough away, Bash started. "What do you mean 'that's not necessarily true?' Don't even tell me you're still married." Bash questioned finding his voice. Francis closed his eyes and prepared for the explanation.

"We never signed the divorce papers."

"Francis! Everyone in the family thought the two of you were over years ago; it's been ten years. You're telling me that you two are still –"

"Married? Yes!" Francis affirmed. "Yes, we are, okay?" Bash ran his hand through his hair. "It's not that big of a deal."

"It is. This is dangerous. As your girlfriend, she's expendable, but she's your wife. That's in the books somewhere! She's back to her maiden name; someone is going to find out." Bash argued.

"Relax, no one is looking for Mary Valois, okay? They stopped looking a long time ago, when she stopped being my wife." Francis felt anger surge through his heart. "Yes, is there a marriage certificate? Sure, somewhere! But no one is looking into that part of my life." Bash shook his head in frustration.

"This changes everything." Bash took a deep breath. "I okayed this because I thought it was done. The fact that you two are married tells me you don't want to be divorced, which tells me feelings are going to be involved."

"So what?"

"Francis, you're one of the best agents there is, but you're also the most honorable man there is. You will protect her at all costs."

"I'd do that even if we weren't married!"

"Francis, you can't think clearly when your emotions are involved. This is irresponsible." Bash was now calm as he looked at his little brother. "You need to have a clear mind because I am putting her at a bigger risk. I can't believe she didn't tell me." Bash said.

"We agreed."

"What?" Bash asked. Francis sighed.

"Mary and I made an agreement. We weren't sure about the divorce. Yes, we were both hurt, and we had destroyed our relationship, but divorce seemed too final. I think we were afraid to end it. So we agreed to stay married. We didn't plan for ten years to pass, Bash." He shook his head thinking about that night, when she cried, and he held her while those divorce papers stared at them from their kitchen table. She had cried that night for hours, all through the last time they made love, when he wanted nothing but to stay inside her forever. When she turned away from him, he continued to hear her weep and his own tears started to form as he had stared at their ceiling wondering how he could ever leave this woman.

"Francis," Bash started. "You both better be careful." Francis nodded and he watched his brother board the elevator.

When Francis entered the apartment, Mary could read the tension all over his face. She went to him out of old habit and looked into his eyes that couldn't bear to look back at hers. "What's wrong? Tell me." She whispered. He wanted to forget telling her, he wanted to kiss her, to remember, to redo, to try again everything they had given up. Instead, he raised his eyes to hers, the worried pools of brown that were concerned and searching.

"Bash knows." He breathed out. It took a moment for her to register, before she dropped the hand that had been resting on his arm. She stepped back and dropped her head, thinking of what to do. Francis watched her now, his own concern growing. "He's not angry. He's just concerned that it'll become a complication." Mary nodded. She never forgot they were married, not for a second during those ten years, but she still could pretend it was over. Since they had been together, she had to keep telling herself to remember they were estranged. Now, it was blatant that they were still married. "Are you alright?" Mary nodded again and finally looked at him.

"I need to get to work." She said softly. He understood and moved out the way for her to finish getting ready and leave. Francis figured he'd just stay out of the way.

For the rest of the day and the following one, they stayed away from each other. The air was filled with hurt and a level of distrust; they both didn't know what to do with their marriage hanging so clear before them. For ten years, they were diligent in keeping that relationship at a distance, but now it was here, and it needed to be dealt with.


	4. Chapter 4

Mary's company was throwing her a celebration in honor of her inheritance of the company. She felt bittersweet knowing that her mother had passed, but still glad that she was given the company her father planned for her to have so long ago. This company should have come to her years ago, when she first graduated college, but her mother's ultimatums prevented it from ever being handed over. Giving in to those ultimatums had ruined her life. So much regret stemmed from those years, so much regret that Mary had never been able to forgive. If only she had been stronger, or if Francis had been stronger, then maybe they could have won.

Some of her mother's advisors were happy to have her and others not so much. Still Mary spent most of the evening greeting and schmoozing people associated with the company. She was anxious for Francis, knowing he was somewhere in the room hopefully with Conde and Narcisse.

When she finally did see them, she had already downed a few glasses of champagne, and her mouth already hurt from smiling too much. She and Francis had barely spoken unless it concerned business. Their marriage hung between them like a heavy fog. Both were deep in thought, memories being reeled in front of them again, and while Francis would be happy to discuss their estrangement, Mary knew she could not handle it. Sometimes the past was better left where it lived, but that was not possible with their situation.

The champagne was enough to draw her away from those thoughts, at least for the moment. When she approached Narcisse and Conde, the two gentlemen kissed her hand again in their greeting. Francis kissed her cheek and she leaned into his embrace as they spoke. She exclaimed how excited she was to be running the company, and also so happy they were there.

After some speeches, more champagne, Mary found herself in the arms of Narcisse on the dance floor. He waltzed her around, and she laughed at his antics.

"You're a very good dancer, Ms. Stuart." She giggled. He was quiet for a moment before switching the tune. "It is interesting how close you have become to Francis." Her face turned serious.

"Why? We've known each other so long. I didn't hesitate when he said he'd be there for me." She straightened herself in his arms.

"It is interesting though. Do you think he knew you had inherited the company?" Mary shrugged.

"I don't know, probably. But Francis is so business savvy; I may have asked for his help anyway."

"You're terribly trusting Ms. Stuart." Narcisse said with a smile. She smiled back.

"Possibly. But I do trust him." She paused and looked in Narcisse's eyes. "He never had a reason to betray me or lie to me." It felt wrong to say, since there was betrayal or at least it was a betrayal to her, but she knew it had been out of his hands. "I've always cared for him." She said softly.

"Perhaps loved?" Narcisse asked.

"Maybe, once. Maybe now, I don't know yet." Narcisse nodded. "I'm glad he's close." She wasn't lying when she said that. Ten years was a long time to be away from someone that you never truly stopped loving. Now he was here, and she couldn't be sure of her feelings, or whether it was appropriate to act on them. She saw him off to the side, watching her float about in Narcisse's arms. He sent her a smile and wink. His small contribution helped her feel more and more comfortable with him.

It wasn't till the end of the evening that Mary was finally able to dance with Francis. It felt good to be in his arms. He held her close, their cheeks resting on one another's. He could smell her perfume right behind her ear where he knew she always dabbed it. He wondered if that was for his benefit, since he had been the only man to ever kiss her there; well as far as he knew. He didn't want to think that she had let another man close to her in their separation. However, he knew he couldn't have expected her to remain single.

"The same perfume." He whispered against her skin. She could feel the move of his lips there, and it sent a tremor down her spine.

"Of course." She whispered back. "It was your favorite." He wanted to pull away, to look into her eyes and understand her desire to continue to wear something that was tied to him, but he didn't. She felt him smile against her cheek. He sighed, and she desperately wanted to ask what, what could possibly be wrong with this moment, but she remained silent. It was as if there was too much to say and too many questions to ask, too much unknown territory. His lips were at her ear. "This is what is right, Mary. You and I, this close, this near, and in each other's arms." It was his barely audible whisper that she felt in the depths of her heart. He was right; they did belong like this, but this was also what drove them a part. She felt his lips touch her skin gently as if she was precious and breakable. Mary suddenly felt self-conscious and exposed to not only Francis but the entire room, and she moved away. He studied her curiously, wondering what was wrong. She licked her lips and kept her arms in his, at a farther stance as not to send an alarm to those who were watching.

"I just…I need some space." She said to him quietly. He nodded disappointed.

Later that night, clearly intoxicated which was appropriate for the amount of liquor and champagne she had downed, she was quiet, and he could read her exhaustion all over her face. He was helping her into her bedroom, holding the back of her dress to stop her from tripping, listening to her mumble something while undoing her earrings.

"Mary, watch." He said softly as she started to head toward the bed in a trip. She caught herself with her arms and stayed there for a moment bent over breathing slowly. He reached to help her back up.

"Unzip me." She said feeling for the zipper. He agreed and located the beginning. He slowly unzipped her savoring the reveal of the smooth skin of her back. Francis almost felt discomfort in seeing her skin like this again. He could probably remember every time he had undressed her before, slowly and with ease. She had shivered at his touch then, waiting, yearning for him to go beyond a simple zipper. Now, she held onto the front of her dress for only a moment, before looking over her shoulder at him. He took the hint. It didn't seem as if she was effected at all. He wondered if this was their fate: to be coworkers only, to meet again years later and never discuss their past. To be friends and no longer lovers.

She started toward her dressing room. He found some shorts and a t-shirt for her and passed them through the door.

"You're the best." She said tiredly behind the door. He could hear her shuffle about, the gown drop, a small obscenity whispered out between her lips, and he stayed leaned against the wall beside the bathroom.

"Mary, we should talk." He heard himself saying. He too was somewhat drunk, his own brain muddled with emotions he had firmly put away years ago. She didn't respond. "You know, about us, the ten years, the time before the ten years. What will we do if we are caught?" He was rambling and she was silent. "I mean, we need a plan – not just for work but for our personal life too, you know." No answer. His head dipped toward the door. "Mary?" Still no answer. He tried the door. "Mary, are you alright?" Behind the door, she was sitting in her overstuffed chair, her body slouched, and her eyes closed. "Mary." He whispered again going to her. She didn't wake. He softly picked her up, and heard her moan and place her arms around his neck. "Come on." He said softly.

As he tucked her into bed, she came to for a moment. "Thank you Francis. I don't deserve you." She said softly, her eyes still closed. He paused wondering if this was the alcohol speaking, or if it was really her. She had always deserved him.

He pulled the covers tighter to her chin. "You're wrong, you do. We deserve each other." He whispered back, although he knew she didn't hear him. "Sleep darling." He said kissing her forehead.

A skinny latte. That was her signature drink all through their time together. He really wasn't sure what she drank now, he had seen her drink regular coffee many times during the day. Perhaps years of travel had caused her to slip into the easy noncommittal black coffee that she downed every morning. It was funny how she remembered his own order of coffee, the two sugars, and a splash of cream. It was this memory that made him consider her own preference.

"Good Morning Mr. Valois." The receptionist greeted him. "Ms. Stuart is in her office." Francis strode down the hall to Mary's large office. Beyond the door, she was facing out looking through the large glass windows onto Fifth Avenue, her arms resting easily across each other.

She had so many memories running through her mind. Why did she still wear that perfume? That was number one. The one he loved, originally bought for her, and always replaced. And the UCONN sweatshirt of his she had been traveling with for ten years. A sweatshirt that frayed at bottom of the left sleeve, which she always pulled on. Although they had been physically separated, she knew her heart had found ways to keep his presence close.

"Deep in thought?" She looked over her shoulder, and saw a sheepish grin staring back at her. "I brought you this, thought you may need it." He held the cup up, and she smiled walking to take it gratefully.

"Thank you." She sipped. "Mmm, my favorite." She stopped mid sip, and it hit her that he remembered. "Sit." She gestured. She found her own seat next to him.

"So I spoke at length with Conde last night," Francis began. "He's clearly smitten with you, although I think he doesn't realize I can tell." She sensed a hint of jealousy in his voice. "He'll probably want to meet with you privately." Mary nodded. "However and unfortunately, both Narcisse and Conde need to go back to France. They've invited us to come for a few days. Apparently, Narcisse wants you to see his business." He paused. "Are you up for doing that?"

"Sure. I'll have to clear it with Bash, but I think it'll be no problem. If that is what needs to be done for the deal to be sealed." She shrugged.

"Good. Let me know what Bash says." Mary nodded. Francis shuffled in his seat.

"Mary, we should talk." She shook her head no. "Mary." He said her name plainly, with slight warning, knowing that they needed to untangle their past.

"Francis, our history is complicated and painful and-"

"And it needs to be sorted out." He said firmly.

"It does." She agreed. "But now? Is it affecting us so much that we can't finish this first?" He shook his head no. "Then can we leave it?" He agreed, although regretfully. In the moment, when their life together had come to an end all those years before, it was Mary who had begged and pleaded, Mary who had wanted to talk about it over and over. Her only hope was to change his mind. It was Francis who tried to be logical. Now it seemed the tables had turned. She did not want to speak of it, and he knew why. It was painful, perhaps even more painful for her then for him. He wasn't sure. He knew he needed to ask for her forgiveness, he knew he needed to let her know his reasons, and yet, she refused it. The conversation would have to wait, he thought. Hopefully, it would occur sooner rather than later and hopefully it did not become an obstacle in accomplishing their job.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N I promise soon after this, Frary will be together. They just need to work this all out. :) **

Francis had brought Mary to his Paris apartment, to which she was overjoyed. While as a child, she had visited Europe many, many times, especially Scotland, her father's birth land, she always loved Paris. When she had met Francis, she had only wanted to soak up whatever she could of him to understand him more. It had intrigued her then to hear of his childhood on the sweeping landscapes of his parents' chateau, and he always promised to bring her. Now she was enjoying learning more about who he was from the subtle style of his apartment, which reigned in masculine and yet traditional decor. He had made her feel quite comfortable in his home.

Francis viewed Mary as she laid on the couch reading a book. She was always reading something, and he remembered teasing her when they were younger. "Hi." She said from her perch, not bothering to look at him. She must have sensed his presence.

"Hey." He said back, sitting in a chair near hers. "Narcisse wants to get drinks tonight." She didn't put the book down.

"Okay." She mumbled.

"Just me and him."

"That's fine." He chuckled at her lack of interest. He got up and snatched the book away.

"Francis!" She yelled jumping up to take the book back.

"What has got you so enchanted, hmm?" He asked, holding the book out of her reach.

"Francis." She said sternly crossing her arms. He laughed even more. And she watched him as he taunted her. It made her laugh too. "Fine. You can have the book." She said with a pointed look.

"I only wanted to see what had your attention, perhaps some dramatic romance novel? Smut?" He looked at the cover. "Nope. That isn't your type anyways." She snatched the book back when he had let up his guard. "You always did have your nose in some book." He said. Her mind quickly traveled back to a situation similar. Her laying on her back in bed reading a book, Francis fast asleep beside her, or so she thought. The light was dim enough and she couldn't sleep anyways, so why not finish a novel for her English class? But Francis couldn't stand the glow of the light for long. She remembered feeling his fingers drum slowly on her stomach, and inch by inch find their way under her t-shirt. "I thought you were asleep." She mentioned still reading.

"Nope." He could so easily distract her from anything.

"Mary? Mary?" Francis questioned, and she came out of her reverie to present day. He had his knowing smile on his face. "Lost in your thoughts again?"

"Shut up." She rolled her eyes. "Some thoughts are better left lost." She turned away. "Do you want a coffee or something?" Francis took a seat and agreed to one. "What do you think Narcisse wants?" Francis shrugged from his spot. "I bet the same thing Conde wants with me."

"What?" Francis looked at her.

"Conde texted. We are also meeting for drinks, alone." She wiggled her eyebrows and winked. It was Francis's turn to roll his eyes.

"As if he was your type." Francis muttered. Mary set his coffee in front of him and grinned.

"Like you would remember." She responded with a smirk. Francis watched her go back to the small kitchen to get her own coffee.

"Let's see. You still like the intelligent ones?" A nod as she sipped her coffee. "Tall, correct?"

"Conde's tall." Mary replied. Francis sighed.

"Besides that, you're not into the brooding, dark, handsome ones." She sat across from him. "Or the dashing, dangerous men." Mary's eyebrows rose. "Although, you do like adventure." Francis paused. "I would say your type is a man who is protective, kind, definitely considers your opinions, which you have many of, and logical. You need someone to balance you because you are often irrational and impulsive." A frown from Mary. "Did I get that right?"

"Yes, to some degree."

"Then your type is the same. You haven't changed." His tone was serious, and Mary suddenly felt exposed before him, a man she once loved with every part of her. Mary cleared her throat.

"So tonight, what do you think will happen?" She changed the subject.

"I foresee them asking about our past and how we know each other. Let's be honest." He advised. Mary nodded. "If we have to tell them the truth about marriage, etc. then we need to do so."

"And if our cover is blown?"

"Then take whatever means necessary to get out." Francis remarked. "If we get through this, then tomorrow we need to visit my mother. She somehow knows I'm in town and needs to see me. You'll be coming." Mary groaned and closed her eyes. Francis laughed. "Really? You have few memories of her."

"But those few weren't good, remember?" Francis nodded.

"You'll be fine. Both us will."

* * *

><p>Francis's memory was full, full of her and only her. Spending the evening being drilled by Narcisse was enough to cause his wanderings through the street and land him alone on his apartment balcony, whiskey bottle by his side. He thought about that night, the one where he thought he had to be the man, to protect her and her best interests. What a mistake he had made.<p>

_Ten Years Earlier_

He was driving her home from the charity event, from his hotel room, from their moments together and he felt sick. Not from food or illness, but from what he was about to do; the sin he was about to commit. She was holding his hand across her thigh looking out the window. It was New York, nightfall, and misty. He could see steam rising from the vents in the sidewalks, and he wondered if she was cold. She glanced over at him, and he caught her bright smile.

"Mary, I need to talk to you about something." He could barely find his voice.

"Sure," She grinned again and squeezed his hand. He took a deep breath and pulled his hand out of hers. He placed both on the leather steering wheel. "Francis?" She asked waiting for him to begin. Her eyes were expectant, but also looked worried. She could always tell when he was troubled.

"Mary, I've been thinking a lot. About us, about this situation with our parents." She was studying him, noticing his nervousness.

"Francis," She interrupted. "We've talked this to death. They're going to have to deal." She remarked.

"No, Mary." He answered softly. "The consequences are too great. For you, they are too great. You can lose everything, and I won't let that happen."

"What are you saying exactly?"

"I think it would be best, for you, if we break it off. Then you'll be able to run your father's company someday – "

"What?" Her voice was raised. "Are you out of your mind?" He couldn't bear to look at her. "We've talked about this over and over, and we, US, you and me, we decided what we had was more important." He was shaking his head.

"I won't be the cause that ends your career." He responded calmly.

"Francis!" She yelled.

"Mary, you have to listen! Your mother will blacklist you! She'll ruin you!" He argued back.

"I don't care!" Their voices were raised, and hers continued to try and rise above his. "I don't care!" He could tell by the crack that she had started to cry. "Francis, look at me." He didn't want to see her face. "Look at me!" She tugged at his arm, and for a moment he saw her tear-stained cheeks. "Stop doing this. Why are you doing this? Why are you doing this?" She rambled, and suddenly her hands were holding her cheeks and she was sobbing.

"Mary, I'm –" He reached for her, but she yanked her hand away.

"Stop the car." She said firmly.

"What?"

"Stop the car!"

"I'm not stopping the car, Mary, we're two blocks from your place."

"Stop the goddamn car Francis!" She yelled banging on the dash. "Pull over!" He swerved, sidling up next to the curb. She grabbed her purse and jumped out slamming the door behind her. He groaned and threw the car into park going after her.

"Mary stop!" He yelled. He reached her and grabbed her upper arm. She whipped around and slapped him hard in the face. He stepped back surprised by her actions.

"You," her voice was dark and low. "We just made love! Did you know you were going to break up with me then? When you told me you could look at me forever and a day, and that you wished the moment would never end?" He looked away. "Is that when you decided to break up with me?" She was crying. "Look at me!" She yelled jerking his face back to hers. "This is what you've done." She took a deep breath and felt herself starting to sink. Her knees buckled, her arms laid limply at her sides as she felt herself fall. But he held her up.

"Please, Mary, get back in the car, I won't talk to you. I'll just drive you home, please." She followed him, distraught, unsure, and lost.

When they pulled up at her place, she got out, shut the door, and he was at her side. "Mary, I still love-"

"No!" she yelled. "Just stop." Her voice dropped. "You – you are a coward." She pointed into his chest. "A coward." She sobbed again, looking at him one last time before turning her back. He stood there in the street watching her go.

_Present day_

Francis ran a hand through his distraught curls and took a swig of the whiskey. If only he could take it all back. The look on her face had broken him. He had thought that he was already broken, but he had been wrong. Seeing her despondent and even lost, sucked every bit of strength he had.

The sliding door opened behind him. "Francis?" It was Mary's gentle voice behind him. "What are doing out here? It's cold." She said coming around the side of him. She was rubbing her arms trying to warm up. "Francis?" She looked at him seriously; he saw her crinkled brow, the seriousness on her face, the worry. She sat down across from him and leaned forward delicately laying her hand on his knee. "Whiskey, really? Was it that bad?" She felt a smile come forth. "Sharing our past?" She would be lying if she said that it hadn't been hard for her too.

"It is." He said softly. His eyes drew to hers, and she saw the pools of tears gathering. "It is all my fault." Mary sighed and began to protest. "It is Mary, you know it. I pushed it."

"Let's not do this, not now." She responded. "It's late and cold." She squeezed his knee.

"Then when? It has to be done now Mary." She took a deep breath and pulled away.

"Fine." She agreed.

"Do you remember that night in the car?" He asked. Mary closed her eyes tightly, wishing the memory away.

_Ten Years Earlier:_

He had said those words. Sputtered them out actually, she knew he was struggling to form each letter. But the words only made her heart pound, her anxiety soar, and the heart draw up her chest. And she had slapped him because she didn't know what else to do. She was angry and sad all at once, and she had no idea how to separate those feelings or express them. She partly hated him. Hated him for marrying her only to tell her they had to end. When she started to sink on the side of the street, it was because her knees buckled from the reality of the situation. It was real; he was going to end their happiness. It wasn't only her knees that fell but her heart. The wound was fatal. But he had caught her, like always.

In her mother's apartment she was frozen, surveying the surroundings. Everything reminded her of him even though it had nothing to do with him. She slowly trudged to her bedroom, dragging her fingers across the wall for support, and her wrap on the ground as she moved. She held her fist to her mouth, hoping it would all disappear. In her bedroom, she saw the vase on her dresser, holding the roses he had sent her that morning. With all her energy she swept her arm across them sending them shattering to the floor, the pieces like the ones of her broken heart. She slipped out of her heels, dropped her wrap and clutch on the way. She sank slowly into her bed, and curled up weeping on top of her covers.

_Present Day:_

"Yes. I remember." Mary's eyes opened. Francis was staring off at the building across the street. "You broke me." She said quietly.

"I know. It was never my intention." He responded. "You still came back. Why?" Mary shrugged.

"Because we weren't finished. Because I knew you were acting out of fear." He nodded still looking away. "Because I loved you. Because we needed to make the decision together."

_Ten Years Earlier_

The packet of papers lie still on their kitchen table. Their presence more ominous that Mary could explain, and it caused her heart to beat wildly. Francis couldn't bear to look away.

"We need to figure this out." Francis said breaking the silence. "I know you don't want to but –"

"Francis." Mary held her hand up "I can't sign these papers." She stood up and pulled her hair back off her neck and began to pace. "Don't tell me this is what you want."

"Of course not!" He countered. "I would do anything to not have this happen." Mary leaned on the counter staring out their kitchen window. He stood up, going to her. He leaned his own body on the counter next to her. "What do we do?" She shook her head. "I mean, if we stay together we both lose everything we had planned."

"Is that so bad?" Mary asked turning to him. "Is it so bad that we lose our inheritance?" She put her hands on his chest. "Francis, I would give it all up for you."

"But will you regret it later?" He held her hands in his. Mary shook her head. "Mary." Francis said. He saw her tears spring in the furious shake of her head.

"I won't. I won't." She pleaded. But he could tell that this woman who had dreamt her whole life of running her father's company, her mother's fashion house, would someday regret this. Francis sighed. He wiped her tears. "I only want you." She said. She leaned in kissing him softly. He didn't want to kiss her back, his wife, he didn't want to because he needed to be clear headed and smart. He had to protect her.

_Present Day_

"It is what it is, Francis." Mary sighed. He stopped thinking of that moment when he had to make a decision to protect his wife. She stood up. "There isn't any use in hashing it out now. We only need to know where to go from here."

"What does that mean?" He asked standing himself. She paused at the door and looked at him.

"We've been separated for ten years. What will it hurt to finalize it?" Her voice sounded tired to him, exhausted of ten years apart. He knew how that felt because it had only worn him down too. She slipped inside the doors and he followed her.

"That's it then?" He said quickly. She stopped, he watched her shoulders drop, her head look up towards the ceiling, probably searching for some strength from somewhere.

"Francis." She breathed out turning to him, shaking her head. "What's done cannot be undone." He stepped toward her, but she put her hands up. "I loved you, desperately, with everything I had in me." She looked away, bit her lip in an effort to stop her tears. "I just thought we'd follow the plan. That you'd follow the plan."

"Mary, I couldn't. I-"

"You couldn't?" She felt strength find its way in her voice. "You couldn't write to me, email me? Nothing? Not a text or a call?" He said nothing but bowed his head. "You promised me that we'd wait the year, let our families calm down and that you'd come back to me. You promised" Her voice broke and he tightened his lips, knowing full well he broke the promise.

"Mary-" He started.

"Not only did you break my heart that night in that stupid red Porsche, you broke it again and again and again!" Her hands waved wildly at him.

"This isn't all my fault, Mary. You knew it would be complicated!"

"Spare me the excuses!" She yelled back.

"My father died, my mother watched me like a hawk, and your mother, I don't know." He ran his fingers through his hair.

"What?"

"She was in contact with mine to keep us a part." Mary rolled her eyes. She knew that.

"Both of our mothers were ruthless. Both of them. So don't blame mine." She threw at him. He looked away from her and just sighed. This was not how he expected it to ever go, it being the moment in which they discovered each other again.

"Mary," he started softly. "When I finally was able to come for you, when I tried because I did, believe me." He urged stepping toward her. "Bash said you were gone."

"Right. He offered me the ability to walk away and I took it because I didn't think you were coming back." She wiped her eyes. She was exhausted. "I'm through talking about this." She said tiredly. "I just want to sleep." She turned away from him and headed toward the bedroom. Francis slumped into the chair, the same position as before, knowing now nothing was changed and possibly ever could be. They had hurt each other, but even more than that, he felt that he had hurt her worse. It had been his responsibility to protect her and love her, and he had failed.


	6. Sillage Update

**A/N: Hey all, I know I haven't posted in a little while, and now after seeing tonight's episode, I don't know that I will be able to. I don't watch Reign just for Frary, but I'm confused about the direction the writing is going in right now. Actually, I've been confused for a long time, but I've been hanging on to see how Frary would recover. Between the inconsistency of last week's episode with this week's and the preview for next week (I thought I heard Mary say to Conde, "Francis has forbidden our union."), I'm just disappointed and confused and tired to be honest. Sometimes part of writing is to think of the worst thing that could happen to your character and get the reader to accept that moment because it would be unpredictable. We've definitely seen that here, and it looks like it's going to continue. I know Frary have to find their way back to each other at some point because Mary did love him, but I am struggling to see how that will work. This episode showed very little of their love. Francis did, but except in the part where Francis says his heart is closed without her, I didn't see it with Mary anymore. The only possible ending I have for this is that Conde will betray Francis, he will be part of a conspiracy to takeover the throne, and Mary will turn back to Francis. But even that is hard to imagine now. **

**I have nothing against any of the characters, writers, or anyone. I am not trying to force an opinion on anyone or be irrational in thinking. I am just confused and actually sad. So until I can reconcile those feelings, I don't' really want to write any Frary. I am going to try and wrap up Sillage so it isn't left open, but I do apologize ahead of time if it is just so-so. Maybe if I write, I can be inspired. So we'll see what happens, and I do appreciate everyone's reviews and favorites! It is so awesome to be part of a community that is supportive. :) Till next time. **


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: I have thought a lot since my update for this story, and the one thing that runs through my mind is that I should not leave things unfinished. I am pretty much done with Reign, my interest level is totally depleted, but I do think I should finish this. Maybe, someday, things will change on the show and I can be more inspired to write. Thank you for your kind words and support. I think we're all a little bruised right now in the Frary fandom, but who knows. Maybe we'll someday be pleasantly surprised. -B. **

All day long Mary had been silent. The previous night's events had weighed heavy with Francis, and their residual effects did not disappear. When he tried to speak to her, her answers were always short and to the point. She had reverted back to just business, and it couldn't have been more disappointing for Francis.

Unfortunately, she was coerced into visiting his mother. Apparently, Francis needed to go since she too was in Paris, and he thought bringing Mary would be good, especially since it was highly likely that Catherine de Medici would be at Narcisse's party this week. Francis wanted no surprises.

The ride was quiet. Mary seemed to be involved in some sort of work on her phone or staring out the window, but certainly ignoring Francis. He made a few calls, read a little, and tried his best to ignore the uneasy feeling between them.

"My mother doesn't know you're coming."

"Lovely." Mary responded not even bothering to look at him. She remembered the first and last time she met Catherine, a force to be reckoned with and dutifully respected.

_Ten Years Earlier_

"Francis stop!" Mary was laughing the entire way up to their third story apartment. He had been trying to tickle her here and there from the moment they got out of the car. She kept trying to push him off, but unlocking the door of their apartment was the worst idea. It gave him ease of access to her sides and he continued with his merciless attack. They fell into the small foyer of their meager sized apartment. Francis held onto her from behind as they stumbled in their laughter. When they finally steadied themselves, he spun her around to kiss her gently, slowly. She wrapped her arms around his neck, the keys feeling cold at the base of it still dangling from her hands, and he pulled her close to him.

A loud "ahem" came from a few steps away and Francis and Mary quickly pulled off of each other to see who was in the apartment. Francis's face bloomed red as soon as he recognized her, and Mary was confused.

"Mother." He said with a nod. Mary quickly looked down, and started to pull at her sweatshirt and fidget with the keys. Francis pulled her with him into the room. "What are you doing here?" Then, Catherine de Medici was regal, and although not tall, her frame seemed to fill their tiny apartment. She approached Francis and delicately kissed his cheeks.

"Hello darling." She glanced quickly at Mary, and Francis already saw her look of disgust.

"Mother, this is Mary." Francis said with a smile, leaving his hand on her waist. Catherine merely looked her up and down and refused Mary's outstretched hand. She turned to walk back to their living room. Francis sent Mary a reassuring glance and pulled her with him into the living room. "Mother, what are you doing here? How did you get in?" Catherine sat on their old coach and folded her hands delicately in her lip.

"Well, you stopped cashing my checks." She said simply. "I wondered how you were able to afford such a…hovel." She said pursing her lips.

"I-" he started, straightening his back. "We, Mary and I, decided we better pay for it together since we were living here together."

"Is that so?" Catherine asked. She flicked her eyes to Mary, who had been studying Catherine's reaction for quite some time. Mary had never met Catherine, and now she understood why Francis truly never wanted her to. "Living in sin?" Catherine asked raising her eyebrows.

"It isn't like that Mother." Francis said. Mary excused herself to the kitchen thinking maybe it would be good to get some water for everyone. Francis took a deep breath and sat down close to his mother. "Mother, we love each other. It made sense to be together." Catherine could see the twinkle in her son's eye, one she had seen before, another woman, a previous mistake. She smiled, but it was out of pity for his warm heart.

"Love? You're nineteen." She said softly.

"You married father young." She nodded.

"And look how it turned out darling." Catherine said with frown.

"Mother," he laid his hand on hers. "I do love her –"

"What is this?" She picked his hand up noticing the simple gold band. "Francis!" She said quickly, her steely resolve no longer in check. She stood up pulling him with her. "Francis! You didn't!" She raised her voice. Mary returned from around the corner and saw the sight. Catherine in utter panic over a wedding ring. She held the two glasses of water tightly and suddenly felt her stomach become nauseous. "This must be annulled!" Catherine urged. Francis began to argue with her, but she didn't listen. "I won't have you married to someone you barely even know!" She shouted. The glasses dropped from Mary's hand, and it stopped Catherine and Francis's arguing. Mary looked down at the broken glass and felt tears start. Things were silent for a moment, before Francis was at her side.

"Mary?" He asked gently.

"I just…I just…they dropped." She barely spoke.

"It's okay." He said softly. "We'll clean it up."

"Oh my God." Catherine muttered rolling her eyes. Francis sent her a look.

"Mary, I'll take care of this, okay?" Mary nodded. He brushed her tears away. "It's fine." He assured her. "Go lie down," He told her. She did as he asked and disappeared into their bedroom.

_Present Day_

Mary wondered if perhaps she should have stood up to Catherine that day. Maybe it would have made a difference. It certainly didn't stop Catherine from contacting Marie de Guise, Mary's mother, and plotting with her. The two women only made her and Francis's life miserable in their efforts to tear them a part. It didn't matter to Catherine that her son had found a girl of good fortune and wealth too, one who was of equal status. To Catherine, no one should be married to her son that she didn't already approve and possibly even choose for him. As for Marie, a nineteen year old French boy was too much. She looked past his wealth, even though it did cross her mind that it may be a good match, and instead only thought that her daughter was too young and too impressionable for her to be married.

"We're here." Francis's voice was barely audible as he stared out the tinted windows of the limo at his mother's palatial estate. "Mary, please, I know we're…"

"I know. Don't worry." She read his mind, knowing full well they had to convince his mother of their renewed relationship. "I can do my job." She took a deep breath and followed him out of the limo. "So this is where you grew up." She sighed out staring at the French chateau. He grabbed her hand and she followed him up the wide staircase.

They were greeted inside by Francis's two younger brothers, Charles and Henry, twenty and eighteen respectively. Mary found them both welcoming and comedic as they took their time kissing her cheek and congratulating their brother on such a great find. It was Catherine who stood firm in the foyer after she walked up that Mary felt the chill. Ice. Always like ice.

"You've got to be kidding me." She said with a smirk. She walked toward her son and Mary, and Mary felt Francis grab her hand. "Is this déjà vu? Have I not already been down this road?"

Francis leaned in and kissed his mother's cheek. "Yes, mother, but that was years ago when you broke into my apartment." Catherine chuckled, not goodheartedly. She stood back and examined Mary.

"Didn't I get rid of you already?" Mary pursed her lips.

"Mom!" Charles said in disbelief. Catherine put her hand up.

"Unfortunately, it doesn't look that way Catherine." Mary responded. Catherine sighed dramatically.

"I see you also found your voice."

"I'm not the same girl I was ten years ago." Catherine studied her. She clearly was not. They followed Catherine into the living room and waited for tea to arrive. Catherine could barely contain her irritation at the situation itself.

"Mom," Francis started. "I, we, we wanted to come speak with you before we go to Narcisse's party this evening." Francis looked over at Mary. "We didn't want there to be any surprises.

"As if this isn't surprise enough Francis." Catherine argued. "Really? The two of you just couldn't stay away from each other? And what exactly does your mother think about this Mary?"

"Well, she's dead. So her opinion no longer matters and frankly neither does yours Catherine." Francis started to speak, but Mary stopped him. "Francis is helping me with the business and if we should decide to stay together then we will, it is not your decision." Catherine nodded slowly as if weighing her options before beginning her counter attack.

"Mother, there is something we ought to tell you though." He looked over at Mary. "We are still married." He waited for her response, for the ball to drop, a glass to shatter, but Catherine just stared at him. "I mean to say that we never did get divorced." She started to laugh as if this was some cruel joke that her son was playing on her. "Mother, I'm telling you the truth." Catherine dropped her napkin furiously on the couch and stood up.

"Do you mean to tell me all of these years you have lied to me about your relationship to Mary?" She asked finally raising her voice. Francis nodded. "How could you possibly have gotten away with it? Deceive me?"

"Our lawyer just relayed false information." Mary said. Catherine held her head in her hands and began to pace.

"Well, I do give you more credit than I did ten years ago." She spat out. Francis stood up and went to his mother.

"Mother, I loved her then. I told you that and I made this decision in order to hope we could stay together."

"And do you love her now?" Catherine asked angrily. Francis swallowed.

"Yes. The fact is that I will always love Mary." Catherine groaned and looked over at Mary.

"What about you?" She asked. Mary closed her eyes for a second. The answer was already in her head, a firm, unwavering yes, but it was scary for her to admit it, to allow for their love to hurt her all over again. "Ha!" Catherine shouted. "Your hesitation tells it all!" She looked satisfied. "Pay mind to this Francis. Don't wait for someone who no longer loves you." Francis was hurt, but he forced the feeling away knowing that he couldn't let his mother see.

"It doesn't matter Mother." He said quickly. He looked at Mary. "She does love me." He said matter of factly. "You do. But you're afraid and I know it." Mary watched him, begging her tears to not fall, begging him to stop. "But I promise you, and I know my promises don't hold much weight anymore, but I will promise anyways, that I will prove to you that we're worth staying together." Mary nodded accepting his words, wondering if they were true or part of their game. Somewhere in the midst with Catherine she had lost all sense of reality, but Francis was pulling her back.

"How heartwarming." Catherine said snidely. "When will the two of you give it a rest?" She asked. Mary stood.

"Catherine just stop. You give it a rest. Can't you even see through this stupid fog of being in control that your son is actually in love? He deserves to be in love." Francis watched Mary, his heart mending itself. He had heard her say that before, once when they were fighting yet again about the solution to the divorce. She had yelled at him after throwing the dollar store dishes she was trying to set the table with. He remembered the way she grabbed his shirt and shook him with all of her might, telling him that he deserved to love and be loved by her. Only her, she had said. Because, according to her then, she would be the only girl to ever love him completely.

"Francis let's go!" Mary called for him. He broke from his memory and saw her leaving the room, his mother watching him. He quickly said goodbye and followed her out.

She was in the limo trying to fix her make-up when he got in. "God, your mother certainly hasn't changed. Just as menacing as ever." Mary huffed. She looked at herself in her compact mirror and assessed the damage.

"Mary," Francis began softly. "I meant what I said." She didn't flinch, she just keep looking into her mirror. He laid his hand on her thigh and she flinched, pulling her leg away. "I did mean it." She stopped looking at him, knowing just from his eyes that he did love her, that he was telling the truth.

"I know." She looked away. "But I can't think about it now Francis. It's disrupting my concentration." She turned away from him. "I need to be on my game for the party."


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N: Not my best. One more chapter left. Thanks for reading. I do not own Reign or anything associated with it. **

Narcisse's small gathering at his own palatial estate was full of good looking businessmen and their wives; a sprinkling of those unsavory characters everyone was clearly doing business with. Mary realized this was their greatest disguise: hardworking businessmen and women. People who dressed nicely, donated to charity, took their families on luxurious vacations; these were the men and women who ran the criminal underground.

She was not nervous. More agitated really, especially with the Catherine situation now in the forefront. It had reminded her of a moment she had purposefully forgotten. Catherine and her own mother had been harsh and difficult. She resented them both for their part in her and Francis's separation.

At the party, Conde found her quickly and they began discussing logistics for their business deal. She kept an eye on Francis who was easily chatting with other men around the room. She found it odd that he was infiltrated into this system. She picked up on his often casual glance toward her. This was not good, she thought. Sure, you looked out for your partner, but perhaps he was looking beyond that. He had told her Bash worried about their ability to keep clear heads, lack emotions throughout this operation, and she too wondered. Yes, they had cleared some of the air, but their past was still there. Could she do her job and then walk away from him? Could she forget the closeness she had felt in the last few weeks? Conde drew her attention back and they continued to talk.

Of course, Catherine was invited having been in business with Narcisse for many years. In fact, it took Francis's ascension to the company to finally end their business deals. She had never liked Narcisse, but they had respected each others power.

"It seems as though you probably had quite the surprise." Narcisse sidled up to Catherine and handed her a drink.

"Hmm…" Catherine glared over at Mary and Francis who were now both speaking with Conde.

"Tell me, what was it that pushed you to keep them a part to begin with?" Catherine took a deep breath.

"Marie de Guise." She stated. "Mary's mother. She's greedy and selfish, and if she even began to agree with this marriage it could have spun out of control." Narcisse nodded and looked over at the couple. "Here's what I don't understand," Catherine began. "Why in God's name is my son back doing business with you?" There was the smirk Narcisse was famous for, the look that said he had won.

"He's not, not directly at least. He's helping Mary do business with me."

"Hmm..." She looked away and observed Francis as he smiled at Mary. "If he loves her so much why is he letting her work with you?" Her question was soft, but not unheard.

"Perhaps your son has come to his senses." Catherine glared at Narcisse.

"Perhaps not." She walked away. Catherine was aware of Narcisse's dark dealings, which is why their companies ceased their business together, but now Francis was pulling Narcisse back in. It too struck Narcisse odd at that moment that Francis was setting Mary up with him. Catherine was right, it did not make sense.

* * *

><p>It was late when Francis and Mary returned to his apartment. Mary was exhausted. She had felt like all they had done is try to impress people for months. Francis helped her out of her coat and she stepped out of heels and padded to his couch. She laid down and closed her eyes.<p>

"Tired?" He asked.

"Extremely." She replied. She didn't bother to move. She heard him slouch into the armchair near her.

"I think we should have a discussion." She groaned and burrowed her head into the pillow. "About the kiss."

"Let it go Francis. It was an act." She recalled earlier that evening at the party. She and Francis had tried to do some reconnaissance work and snuck out of the main area to locate Narcisse's office. It wasn't a smart idea, but Mary pushed for it. She wanted to get the deal sealed and over with. The faster she could, the quicker she could go back to ignoring her feelings.

"I disagree." Mary pulled her head out of the pillow and looked at him. He grinned.

"Get that satisfied smile off your face, Francis. It was pretend." He shook his head. He thought about how they were nearly caught in the wrong place at the wrong time that night. So he had pushed her up against a wall and kissed her. It had been the only way to avoid any suspicion.

"You kissed me back." He stated plainly. She rolled her eyes. "Admit it Mary." He seemed way too satisfied for her. It was annoying.

"It was fake."

"Prove it." Francis challenged. Mary sat up all the way and rolled her eyes again. "Prove it."

"Fine." She said through clenched teeth. He didn't know her, not all of her, not the woman she had become. He didn't know the actions she had to take in the past.

She went to him. She pushed him back into the chair and slowly climbed over top of him, her legs on either side of his. He watched her, thinking what the hell she was doing. She grabbed his face in her hands and looked into his eyes. He thought, this was not his Mary or this was not the Mary he used to know. She leaned down slowly and kissed him. It was a deep kiss, and he wasn't swayed by its pretend start. Instead his own arms wrapped around her waist and drew her closer to him. He deepened the kiss further, his tongue probing for access. He couldn't think clearly with her this close. They remained locked together for some time, their battle slowing and smoothing in their kiss. But Francis only had so much patience, only so much resistance. He stood up taking her with him, she wrapped her legs around his waist and held tight. His hands supported her and he began to walk. Between their kisses he murmured, "This isn't fake." She only replied by kissing him further, shutting him up. It was clear though, nothing was phony about this. Not Mary, not Francis, and certainly not the kiss.

* * *

><p>It was the sun that woke Mary. For a moment, she was disoriented. She couldn't really remember what had happened, nor what she was doing in someone else's bed. The body next to her, the one which still held tight to her form stirred. She remembered the story now. She felt a kiss drop on her bare shoulder and she smiled. He whispered good morning close to her ear before kissing her earlobe. To be like lovers again, wrapped up in each others embrace, waking together was a foreign concept to Mary. She shifted so she could see him, and her body slid slightly under his. He looked down at her from his side.<p>

"Morning." She whispered. His fingers brushed back a part of her hair.

"I've waited forever to make love to you again." He said softly looking over her. She couldn't help but smile. They had been together and it wasn't the same as ten years ago. It was different in a very good way. In a way in which they had rediscovered each other and took their time to savor each second of their moments. She touched his face and leaned up to kiss him. He leaned back down on his back and stared at the ceiling. "I wish I could take it back."

"Francis." She started, whispering out his name.

"No, I do. We've missed ten years together." Mary leaned up and placed her hand on Francis's chest.

"Let's not talk of the past anymore." She paused. "Let's get through this operation, and then we'll talk of our future. Okay." He nodded and grinned. "Now we have a plane to catch."

* * *

><p>The sun was beginning to peek out from its hiding place during winter, and Mary felt much more at ease now knowing she and Francis could work on loving each other. Their only obstacle was their job, which needed to be finished. She had committed to transporting illegal goods through her company three times. Narcisse had wanted to see how those trips went before make it a lasting commitment. Mary and Francis knew that the three shipments would not ever happen. They would only need one to close the case.<p>

She walked briskly toward Narcisse's office. Francis was supposed to meet her, but he had not answered her calls or texts all morning. She didn't worry. He was probably hung up on something at his offices. She figured he'd be waiting there for her, like he said he would that morning when they had kissed many, many times goodbye.

Mary entered the skyscraper cold and windblown, but smiling. Soon this ordeal would be over and she and Francis could have a life together, hopefully without the system or their jobs or Catherine, or whatever else may come in between then.

She was greeted by Conde who seemed unusually quiet and carefully took her coat and ushered her into Narcisse's private office. She saw that Francis was not present, but she was early, so she only expected him to be there soon. Narcisse didn't wait to start, he also didn't shake her hand or greet her cordially.

"Mary." His tone was flat as he said her name, and she picked up that something was wrong. "There is a problem." He glanced quickly at Conde who was now sitting next to Mary.

"Okay. Should we wait for Francis?" She asked looking at them both. Narcisse shook his head, a hard grin spreading across his thin lips.

"No. Francis will not be working with us anymore." Mary furrowed her brow and leaned closer to Narcisse.

"I'm sorry, what?" She asked. "I just spoke with him this morning, he said he would be here for our meeting." She thought about them, talking about the ending of this operation during the comforts of each other's arms in bed. He had brought her coffee and made her eggs and toast, she had nipped at his chin when a stray piece of egg had settled there. They had made love late last night and early this morning in the midst of their leftover plates of eggs.

"I understand, but…" He paused, stood, and walked to the front of his desk, where he leaned against it. "There is now a problem."

"Which is?" She asked quickly.

"Francis isn't who we think he is Mary." She sent him a questioned look and glanced at Conde searching for more information. "He's a spy." Mary's heart dropped, she felt a dull ache begin to spread over the pounding of her heart.

"I don't understand." She sputtered out, wondering how much they knew. Her brain raced through every situation and quickly grew concerned for Francis's safety.

"He works for the French government. He's been undercover trying to catch me in my illustrious business ventures for well over a year now." She shook her head, dropped it into her hands. She had to pretend this was a shock, news to her. Otherwise they'd know something was wrong.

"Why?"

"Mary, if you haven't realized my business isn't always clean."

"I know, but –"

"Mary," Conde started, laying his hand on her arm. "He's using all of us." She stared at him in disbelief.

"No." She said firmly shaking her head quickly. "No, he wouldn't do that. He wouldn't do that to me."

"He would. He did." Narcisse confirmed. "Francis is using you to catch me. What do you think will happen when they find out about the shipments? The money? Who will be in trouble? Not just me. Your name is attached too." She continued to shake her head, practicing her disbelief in the situation, hopefully convincing them of her pretend ignorance. "Don't worry. We're taking care of it." Narcisse said. Mary looked up and saw the coldness in his eyes. He went back to his desk. She looked at Conde, who nodded.

"What does that mean?" She asked. No response from either. "What does that mean?" She asked again standing up. Narcisse smiled his fake and cold smile again. Her heart was racing. She knew what that meant. Men like Narcisse didn't play games when it came to betrayal. "Answer me!" She commanded, but he barely looked at her. "If you think I won't tell the police, I-"

"Now, now Mary. Sit down." Narcisse responded calmly.

"No."

"Sit." He bellowed at her. She felt Conde's hand on her should pushing her down into the chair. She went. "You will not tell the police." He folded his hands. "Francis is just going to simply disappear. Take a vacation, something." He waved his hand, and Mary felt tears start to spring. Real ones.

"No." She said softly.

"Yes." Narcisse nodded.

"I won't help you."

"You will. We had a deal Ms. Stuart, you will honor your word." She shook her head, but he only urged her on. "This isn't negotiable."

"Can I see him at least, please?" She cried. She tried to stop her tears but they couldn't be helped. Narcisse started to shake his head, but looked at Conde who seemed so sympathetic to Mary.

"I'll consider it." He said. "It'll have to be soon." Narcisse looked at Conde and nodded. Conde swooped down, gently grabbing Mary by the upper arm, and pulled her up. "Remember our deal Mary, or your fate, Francis's fate, may be worse. I'll be in touch." Conde escorted Mary to her waiting car. She wiped her tears.

"Mary-"

"Please don't." She said softly. "Just find a way for me to see him. Please. I will do whatever Narcisse wants, but I need to say goodbye." Conde nodded.

"I'll try." He helped her into the car which brought her back to her penthouse.

Once she was back at the penthouse, Mary began making plans. She searched through her old bedroom where she had hidden some items, one being an untraceable cell phone to contact Bash. If they were watching her, collecting her records, they'd see if she make any calls. With this, she was protected.

"They have Francis." Were the first words out of her mouth.

"What? Where?" Bash's voice was frantic already.

"I don't know. I don't know." She felt herself unraveling again. "I'm trying to get them to let me see him. It doesn't seem good."

"Okay. I'll call France, let them know."

"Bash what if he's..." Her voice dropped off, tears rushed down her cheeks.

"Don't think that. We'll find him. I promise."

"I just, I just got him back. We're good. We worked it out and I, I can't…" She was rambling.

"Mary you have to calm down. Convince them to let you to see him. Stall. In the meantime, I'll get in touch with his people. Do you have any idea where he may be?"

"Narcisse has warehouses by the water. Maybe there?" She guessed.

"Okay. Just be careful, okay. Let me know if they take you."

"Okay." They hung up and Mary stared at the phone for a moment before closing it. She slid down against the wall and pulled her knees up to her chest, burying her head in them. She was a trained operative, she had defeated, beat many, many people. She had been in danger, used a gun, used her fist, whatever means necessary to save herself and her partners, but this seemed too different. It seemed as more than an operation. It was like they were ripping away a part of her, a part she had already lost once and was not prepared to lose again.


	9. Chapter 8

They blindfolded her. It was the only way they would let her see Francis. But she heard the sounds and her guess was confirmed. It had to be a warehouse near the dock. She could hear the seagulls when they exited the car, the fog horn of a lonely tugboat, the slapping waves of the sea. For a moment her heart stopped, perhaps they were going to toss her over into the murky water instead of bring her to Francis. They didn't. They brought her into a building and removed her blindfold. She shook out her hair and kept her hands at her side. Conde kept hold to her arm, too tight, she had thought. Narcisse approached her with another man. The man rubbed her down checking for weapons; Narcisse was thorough.

"You'll get five minutes to say goodbye." His voice was cold. "Not a moment longer." She nodded. Conde started to pull her away toward a door. "And Mary?" They stopped and she looked over her shoulder at Narcisse. "Don't try anything." She followed his eyes as they drifted from one armed man to another around the warehouse. She nodded and Conde took her to Francis.

A man unlocked the heavy metal door and Conde pushed her in and the door shut. She had to pause so her eyes could adjust to the dim light. She saw him, crumpled in the corner in the small rectangular ray of sunlight falling through a tiny window.

"Francis!" Her words barely came out, her voice lost at the sight of him. She dropped to her knees and pushed back his hair to view his face. Purple bruises covered his jaw, his eye, a cut braced his lower lip. His eyes slowly opened to see her, and for a moment they struggled to register who she was. His lips broke into a constrained smile. She could see he was in pain. "Francis, what have they done to you?" She whispered holding his chin. She tried to help sit him up and he grasped tight to his abdomen. "Are you alright?"

He grinned a little bit more, his lips then quickly forming into a tight line at the difficulty of moving.

"Mary, why are you here?" It was hard for him to speak. His breaths were shallow and uneven.

"To see you." She said softly. "To know you're okay."

"To say goodbye." He added. She could feel her tears already starting and she shook her head.

"No." She looked away, not wanting him to see her cry. "No, I'll do whatever I need to in order to save you."

"Mary, Narcisse-"he paused and sucked in a breath. "Narcisse is not a man to be played with. Your best option is to leave."

"I won't leave you here. I won't Francis." She held onto his hand. "I won't." She whispered. He sighed.

"What is the plan?" She shrugged. A tear dropped down her cheek.

"I don't know." She cried softly. "Bash. Bash is the only plan I have to save you." He nodded.

"Then let's be prepared." She knew the meaning of his words and shook her head. She felt like all she was doing was telling him no. She was not ready for this. "Mary." He said firmly. She felt him squeeze her hand. "We must." She sat next to him and leaned gently against his body. He did his best to wrap his arm around her and she laid her head on his shoulder. "I love you." His lips barely touched the top of her head.

"I love you too." She whispered through tears.

They sat for a moment before hearing loud bangs and shouting. Mary stood quickly, recognizing gunfire. Bullets sprayed the door and she dropped. She crawled to Francis and covered him with her body, shielding him. The door flew open and she braced for the worst. The noise was deafening.

A hand landed on her shoulder and she turned in the darkness to see Bash through his mask. "It's me." He shouted. She nodded and moved off of Francis. He checked him out and called over other men to help. She backed off to the side. Mary only remembered the gunfire ending, the shouting stopping and her eyes watching them carry Francis out on a stretcher. She went to follow, but Bash stopped her.

"Mary, I need to arrest you."

"What? Bash, I have to go with him." She argued.

"Mary, to protect your cover I need to arrest you, at least until they're gone. Once they're out, I'll drive you to the hospital myself." She turned and let him handcuff her. He took her out to the car. As she walked she saw Narcisse smirking at her from a police car, his grin a sign of things to come. She shivered at the sight of him and adverted her eyes to the ambulance where they were loading Francis. He'd be alright.

Francis did recover from the bruising and beatings he had endured from the men at the warehouse. Mary walked into the shared bedroom at her penthouse.

"Here." She set his cup of tea on the nightstand and sat on the side of the bed.

"Come here." He responded reaching to kiss her.

"How are you feeling today?" He shuffled in his place and gave her a half smile.

"Better than yesterday. How do you feel?" He asked.

"Happy." She replied. "Glad to have you home, safe." She rubbed her hand on his leg. The doorbell rang and Mary threw Francis a questioned look. "Be right back."

She strode to the door and opened it to reveal Catherine. "Catherine." Mary said quietly. She knew Catherine was aware, Bash had sent her a call. She just hadn't expected her to show up.

"Mary." Catherine stepped into the open door. "Is he alright?" Mary nodded and brought her to Francis. She left them alone to talk.

When Catherine was ready to leave, she stopped at the doorway. "Mary, I need to say something."

"Okay." Mary knew she'd never been able to stop Catherine before.

"Thank you for saving my son. I am grateful." Mary nodded. "And I am sorry. Not for splitting you up because I do think you were both too young." Mary rolled her eyes and Catherine touched her arm. "I am sorry for the pain I caused you both. True love is rare and it is obvious that you love him deeply. Thank you for that too." She leaned in and kissed Mary's cheek, a surprise. "You're welcome in my home anytime." Catherine disappeared around the door leaving Mary standing in shock.

"Was my mother nice to you?" Francis asked when Mary climbed into the bed beside him. She nestled down on her side, folded her hands under head.

"She was." Mary said. "She apologized for causing us pain." Francis smiled.

"Good." He said. "I am sorry for causing you pain too."

"Francis, that is over." Mary pushed herself up. "It is."

"No, this needs to be discussed. We can't smooth these things over."

"Fine."

"I did break my promise to you. I could have contacted you and I didn't. I am guilty of wondering if we were better off apart." Mary watched him. He looked pained to tell her this. "Make no mistake, I loved you then and now, but the problem we faced was maybe too much for me to handle."

"I understand. I do." She sighed. "I should tell you something too."

"What?" he asked crinkling his brow.

"I got your email. The one you sent letting me know you were coming back to the U.S. But I was so angry at you for all of the lack of contact that I didn't want to see you." He stared at her. "I asked Bash to send me away, out of the country, to avoid you." Francis was silent and looked away. She held her breath waiting for his response.

"Then we are both guilty." He said softly. Mary looked away from him. "Mary." His hand reached out to her cheek. "Mary, none of this matters." He said. "What matters is that we never stopped loving each other and we are together now." She smiled and leaned to kiss him.

When they broke apart she smiled wide.

"I have an idea!" She said excitedly.

"What?" He loved her childlike grin, her amusement.

"We never really had a honeymoon, and we both deserve so much time off. What do you say to going far, far away for a long time? You and me? Alone?" He leaned and kissed her again.

"I think that is the best idea you've ever had." She kissed him again and for the first time in their estranged ten years, she felt completely whole.

**A/N: Thanks SO much for reading! I did enjoy writing this. I do hope Frary makes their way back to each other and the fandom. Then maybe I can be inspired to write more! We'll see. Love and blessings to you all. xoxo -B. **

**I do not own Reign or anything associated with it. **


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